


Keep Your Feet On Solid Ground

by frith_in_thorns



Category: White Collar
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frith_in_thorns/pseuds/frith_in_thorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diana and Neal have a rather overdue conversation. (Spoilers for 5x01)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Feet On Solid Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Set between seasons 4 and 5.

"I can get up the stairs on my own," Neal insisted as they entered June's house. "You don't have to hover behind me." In truth, he was hoping that if he persuaded Diana to leave now, he might escape the lecture he sensed had been stewing for some time.

The steely look in Diana's eyes, however, told him that he wasn't going to be so lucky. "Caffrey, don't even try it. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I know you're out of opportunities for stupidity for the evening."

That was incredibly unfair. Neal wanted to protest, but the process of climbing the stairs while being unable to take deep breaths made it difficult. _All_ of him hurt. He clung to the banister, refusing to accept any support from Diana. She would make him pay for it in sarcasm.

By the time they reached his apartment, however, she was looking less angry and more anxious as he wheezed for breath beneath the pain of cracked ribs. That made him change his trajectory to the table instead of towards his bed — he didn't _want_ her to be looking at him like that.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, as he slumped into a chair.

"Just great," Neal said. There was a half-empty bottle of wine on the table, and he pulled it and a wineglass towards him. It probably wasn't the greatest idea, but the ER hadn't given him painkillers strong enough to make alcohol an actual problem.

Diana crossed her arms, watching him. "Neal," she began, and stopped.

"Do you want some wine?" he asked, to fill the accusatory silence.

"No."

Neal shrugged (it hurt) and drank a mouthful. "Considering how best to yell at me?" he asked. He had meant to sound sardonic, but his voice came out more petulant. Annoyed, he took another sip of wine instead.

Diana sighed. "I don't _want_ to yell at you."

"Isn't that what you came up here for?"

"Neal, you were _hit by a car_ ," she snapped.

"I stopped our suspect getting away," Neal retorted.

"Yes, by throwing yourself in front of his car!"

"It wasn't going very _fast_."

Her expression was downright murderous now. "That is _not_ the point." She blew out, exasperated. "You know I'm going to tell Peter about this."

Neal had been slouched mutinously over his wineglass, but that hit home. He straightened sharply. "No, don't. Please."

She shook her head firmly. "I promised Peter I'd keep you out of trouble while he's… away." _In prison_ hung unsaid in the air. "I can't stop you being blatantly self-destructive, but I'm damn well not going to cover for you with Peter."

"I'm not being self-destructive," Neal said, without much heart. A good lie needed an element of truth, and he didn't even have enough self-delusion to go through with this one. It had been _weeks_ since Peter had been arrested, and he still hadn't come up with a solution — it was eating away at him. 

Flinging himself into the path of the suspect's accelerating car had been something he could _do_ ; a perfect, weightless moment where nothing else had mattered.

And then he had been bounced off the hood and hit the road hard, gasping and stunned. Jones ran to grab the driver, who had slammed down on the brakes, and Diana dropped to her knees beside Neal, urgently repeating his name. 

He didn't want to remember that. 

"Are you listening to me?" Diana asked, and Neal blinked, realising he hadn't been.

"Yes," he said, guiltily.

Diana raised an eyebrow, not at all fooled. "Look, I know this is hard for you," she said. "I know you're blaming yourself, and I know you're doing everything you can to try and make it right. But you aren't helping Peter if you're not bothering to stay safe. He doesn't need to be worrying about you on top of everything else."

"Threatening to tell on me, though? That's low," Neal said.

She shrugged. "Here's lower: _I_ don't want to be worrying about you either right now." She took a quick breath. "I'm pregnant."

Neal's mouth had already been half-open to respond, but his brain skipped a beat as he processed her words. "You're _what_?"

"Pregnant. Several months along, actually." She folded her arms defiantly, which gathered in the fabric of her top, and oh yes, Neal could definitely see the edge of a bump there now that he was looking. "You know what, I think I need some wine after all. This definitely wasn't how I was planning to have this conversation."

Neal was still gaping at her, feeling remarkably stupid. He only just managed to keep himself from asking if she was even allowed to have any wine — she would know far better than he did. And she might have decked him. "Who else knows?" he asked, instead.

"Only the HR department — I had to notify them to arrange maternity leave." At his look she shrugged. "It hasn't seemed like the right time to mention anything, what with everything going on. I'd better tell Jones now that I've told you, though, or he'll sulk."

"You've still been doing fieldwork." Neal winced as soon as the words left his mouth. His _don't say anything stupid_ filter had slipped. 

"Yes, I _know._ I was _there_. It was where I saw you throw yourself in front of a moving car, remember?"

Neal rolled his eyes, but he couldn't entirely say that the resurgence of sarcasm wasn't justified. "We're back to that."

"We are most definitely back to that. And it's where we're going to remain until I'm satisfied you won't do anything that monumentally stupid again until I can turn responsibility for you back over to Peter."

"Only until then?" Neal couldn't help asking.

"I don't have great expectations for how long you can refrain from monumentally stupid acts."

"You really are beginning to sound like Peter," Neal muttered. Unfortunately, that just made Diana look pleased. He sighed heavily, but was brought up short as his ribs protested.

Diana's expression switched back to concern. "You should probably take your prescription stuff and lie down," she said. "You're going to be a mass of bruises in the morning."

"Thanks for the reminder," Neal grumbled, but this time he allowed her to take his arm and help him to his feet. He was grateful for her support as he hobbled to the bathroom — his strained muscles had begun to seize up, and were loudly voicing their displeasure at being called on.

She fetched him some pyjamas, and waited patiently in the main room until he was ready to make the trek across to his bed. For the first few steps he tried not to lean on her too heavily, but then she said, "For goodness' sake, Caffrey," and he reconsidered.

Arranging his aching body into a comfortable horizontal position was actually harder than walking had been. Diana brought over a glass of water and the painkillers and muscle relaxants he'd been prescribed, and watched sternly as he swallowed the pills. 

Neal finally allowed his head to drop backwards onto the pillows with a sense of relief. "Thank you," he said, realising that it was quite a bit belated. "For everything. Waiting in the ER, and bringing me back here."

Diana couldn't quite keep up her stern facade, although she was trying. "It's a one-time thing," she said. "Next time you get hit by a car, you're on your own."

"Noted." He grinned at her wry expression. "And I didn't say before — congratulations. You're going to be a _great_ mom."

She smiled involuntarily, her expression softening. "Thank you. Just try not to give me a heart attack in the meantime, okay?"

"Deal," Neal agreed. The meds were kicking in; he was already having to fight to keep his eyes open. "Can I be the godfather?"

Diana snorted, putting her hands on her hips. "In your dreams, Caffrey. I want someone who'll be a _good_ influence."

He chuckled sleepily. "Peter, then?"

"Peter," she agreed. _We'll get him back._ She squeezed his shoulder as his eyelids drooped. "Get some sleep. Take care of yourself." She hesitated a second. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled. 

She laughed softly, and with his eyes closed he didn't hear her leave.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Eyes on the Target (The Solid Ground Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533433) by [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki)




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